


intimacy

by Edgelord27



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Author Projecting onto Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Based a day after the Manberg Vrs. Pogtopia war, Dream Smp, F/M, Have i read Das Kapital?, I'm low-key projecting my political views onto this, I'm writing the reader as She/They, Other, Plot twist- IT'S YOUR CABIN, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, The reader is soft, This is so openly anti-capitalist, Written by a dyslexic person, Yes., beta'd by a dyslexic person, do with that what you will, emma goldman is canon in the dream smp, have i seen bugs life?, ive decided, no im not projecting, no.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:08:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29000466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edgelord27/pseuds/Edgelord27
Summary: What if It was your cabin?You were fine living by yourself. Completely fine. So when a stranger shows up on your doorstep, bleeding profusely. Needless to say, you were slightly pissed.---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Technoblade shows up at your house, heavily injured after seemingly wandering aimlessly for hours. Based a few hours after Wilbur blew up L'manberg.
Relationships: Technoblade/Reader, Technoblade/you - Relationship
Comments: 49
Kudos: 334





	1. What's more romantic than grievous bodily harm?

Snow fell gently to the ground as you moved around your house. A feeling of unease sat heavy in your stomach, as you saw dark clouds climb higher in the sky. Too dark to be rainclouds. Ash and debris spread over the crater where L'manberg once stood. Shivers ran up your spine, not caused by the cold.

You wanted to believe that this was a good thing. Hierarchy always ended in blood. As long as there existed a higher and a lower class, the disconnect would only breed contempt. As hopeful as the idea of 'fighting with words' is, it was idealistic. Non-violence only protects those in power. As much as you wanted to agree with Wilbur, you still felt grief over the loss of those ideals. It was nice to be optimistic. It was freeing to believe in the existence of a place free of tyranny. But you watched in aversion as he declared himself president. 

You decided to leave once he called the election.

Surrounded by the freezing Tundra, you felt peaceful. Free of the chains that held you down when under Dreams constant scrutiny. But, no amount of peace could fend off the feelings of complete and utter isolation and loneliness you felt. Nobody knew where you were, miles away from the country you once called home. You heard what was happening through snippets of hushed conversations when you walked through the smp. You could see Nikki's unhappiness in her eye when you would visit her. She was one of the only people you talked to anymore. You know Wilbur felt somewhat betrayed when you announced you were leaving. And whatever Wilbur felt, Tommy would reflect with ten times the intensity. 

You shook your head and moved from the window. Puttering around your house, you're mind couldn't help but drift back to L'manberg, the ache in your chest only growing when you thought of the wellbeing of your old friends. Despite many of them not wanting anything to do with you anymore, you couldn't just stop caring about them. You didn't work like that. You'd probably still take a bullet for any of them, even if they'd watch you bleed out after it.

Your eyes drifted to the stand currently holding your old armour. The enchanted pieces glowed despite having not been touched in months. The thin layer of dust coating it doing nothing to stop the gleaming of the netherite as the soft lights of your cabin bounced off it. Running a hand over your old helmet brought a small smile over your face.

Your face quickly dropped as you spotted something amongst the backdrop of white outside your cabin. A figure limped slowly through the snow, which had picked up and was now harshly blowing ice and snow across the landscape. Despite your heart rate picking up, you huffed an amused laugh as you watched this person collapse face-first into the snow. You began to worry once they didn't pick themselves up. Debating just leaving them there, you noticed red bleeding into the snow where the stranger lay. Cursing, you slipped boots on your feet, threw a thick cloak over your shoulders and a loaded crossbow in your hand.

Stomping through the snow, huffing curses as you approached the ballsy motherfucker that dared step foot a mile in your vicinity. You slowly walked closer, with a loaded crossbow aimed at the figure that lay amongst the snow you shouted out. 

"You better have a good reason for being here, and it must be something to risk getting shot." You grit out, gripping your crossbow with practised ease.

After receiving no response, you kicked some snow over them to see if they would react. After you see no reaction you heaved a heavy sigh. Whoever this was, they were out cold, literally. Dropping your crossbow, you approached the motionless figure. You saw pink hair spread out against the snow, the remnants of a plait now messy and skewed. A heavy cloak sat on broad shoulders. You shuddered when you saw the scorch marks that littered it. The man's face covered by a golden crown that had slid off his head. The axe strapped to his back raised alarms, but the wounds that littered his body worried you more. You knew that he would bleed out if he didn't receive medical attention immediately. 

You glared upwards at the sky as you barked out "Fuck!"

Glaring at the unconscious man, you hoisted his arm around your shoulder as you heaved him back to your cabin. Dragging this heavily armed man towards your home, you cursed the fact that you didn't move even farther away. Maybe a desert? So anybody who tries to get close to you would die of dehydration and heatstroke before they could collapse meters away from your house and guilt trip you into using up your best healing potions.

Kicking your door open, you shuffled through your home. A task made infinitely more difficult due to the massive man you were lugging around. You lay him down by your fireplace in hopes of warming him up, because the paleness of his face worried you. He either hasn't seen the sun in an alarming amount of time- or the cold is setting in. You notice that despite the cloak he wore looking warm, the rest of his clothes were useless in the snow. As you fiddle with the golden clasp attached to his cape, the man begins to stir. You freeze as heavy-lidded blood-red eyes meet yours. You feel your fear spike as his shaky hand raise to yours and unlocks the clasp. His eyes close once again. And you are left slightly unnerved.

The man's cloak was charred, black smoke embedded into the lush fabric. Peeling it away revealed cuts and nicks dotting his upper torso, his (presumably) once clean and crisp dress shirt now littered with slashes and holes. The injury that required the most attention was a deep gash spreading along the man's upper torso. The wound was deep with dirtied skin surrounding it. It would make one hell of a scar. Pressing a clean cloth into the wound in hopes of stopping the little blood that was still seeping out. Flakes of dried blood broke away from his skin and fell softly to your wooden floor. Grumbling quietly at the mess you would have to clean up, your eyes fell to the mans sleeping face. Furrowed brows framed hard eyes, deep bags under closed eyes- a telltale sign of exhaustion. Whatever happened for him to end up on your doorstep must've worn him down, thin.

Giving him a once over too see if you missed any life-threatening slashes or burns, you lay his cloak and shirt out, with the idea of attempting to clean them later. Although, it may be easier to just burn them. Debating whether or not to just bin his wrecked boots, you collapsed into your bed. Exhausted by having to deal with the heavily injured man showing up on your doorstep. You fall asleep surprisingly quickly for having a stranger in your house. Slightly comforted by the fact that your axe was right next to you. 

...

You awake hours later when the sunlight reaches your eyes. Rolling out of bed, promptly shitting yourself when you see a (thankfully) still unconscious man in your living room. You don't know why you expected him to be gone, like a shameful one-night stand. But alas he is still in your living room, your now freezing cold living room. You go over to restart the fire, awkwardly stepping around the hopefully not dead man. Cursing when you see you're out of firewood, you would have more if you didn't have to deal with a rando showing up bleeding profusely on your front porch yesterday. 

Shrugging on your cloak and snatching your axe, you leave your home to gather more wood. Or you would do that if a loud sneeze didn't ring through your house, emanating from the man. Quickly spinning on your heel, you point your axe at the man. A tense moment passes. The man (now sitting upright) is quietly observing his surroundings. His eyes almost lazily drifting around the room, lingering on your armour stand, before making their way back to you.

You meet his stare head-on, the hand around your axe tightening exponentially, which he notices. 

"Uh-" he's cut off by a violent cough.

You sigh, leaning your axe by the door, approaching him with your hands in front of you making a placating gesture. Showing him that your hands are empty, you move over to the chests in the corner to fish out something for him to drink. Your hands wrap around the rim of a glass bottle. You turn to see him watching you intently, hands curled in his lap. Placing the bottle in front of him and backing off, he eyes it suspiciously.

"If I were going to kill you, I would've left you bleeding out in the snow." You gruff out and fall into a nearby chair, a hand carding through your hair.

He huffs out a breath, something that could be a laugh. Grabbing the healing potion and downing it. He goes to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand but lifting his arm causes him to wince, and for you to rush over.

"Hey, hey, none of that. That gash will take weeks to heal, even with the healing pots, no lifting your arms too high." A hand on his shoulder gently pushed him back to the pillows and blankets that sat beneath him.

His eyes widen at you, flicking over the points where your hands are touching him. You rip your hands off him, rubbing them on your legs.

He's warm. 

You stand up, quickly looking anywhere but him. Logs, you need wood for the fire. Walking over to your door, you grab your axe. Lifting it up, in a gesture, you stutter out a stunted-

"Uh, need wood."

You leave your house with the feeling of eyes burning into your back.


	2. Oh polished hardwood, my beloved

You let a shuddered breath escape you as you trudged off the stone steps leading to your house, your cheeks feeling hot. Immediately stepping into ankle-deep snow. Huffing, you set out towards the treeline, leaving the stranger alone in your home. Praying that he wasn't anything like Tommy, who would just steal anything that interested him. You never really minded, all your meaningful items either hidden or on your person at all times. So, he could never really take anything that mattered. So what if he stole some armour? At least he was wearing something to protect himself. Your head hurt thinking about him, you haven't seen him in months. Or Wilbur. The last time you visited Nikki was two- maybe three months ago. You tend to lose track. She seemed off when you saw her, but she assured you she was fine when you asked her. So you dropped it.

Chopping trees was one of your favourite things you had to do while living here. It was rhythmic, relaxing- and at least it allowed you to use your axe. Your other weapons and tools safely concealed away inside your house left to dust. You never thought you'd use a hoe more than a sword in your lifetime, but here you are; with wood to chop and dirt to till. Nobody to fight. Alone... how you liked it? You snorted, realising how sad you must sound. Turning back to look at your cabin, you see a flash of pink move from the windows. 

Now, you really like your flooring. It was polished dark oak, and it took fucking ages to look as good as it did. And you would literally gut this man if he got fresh blood on it- wasted healing potions aside. You rifled through your pockets till you felt the rounded surface of an ender pearl.

Boots hit the wood of your doorstep, loud enough for anyone inside your home to hear. You hesitate with your hand on your doorknob, not wanting to attempt to hold a stilted conversation with the stranger, the memory of your hand on his bare shoulder burning through your head, leaving your cheeks feeling hot. You open your door, repeating 'please be gone' in your head. You see the stranger standing in the middle of your living room- halfway done buttoning up his wrecked shirt. You can see he's struggling with the buttons. You're honestly impressed he got this far, with how marred his hands were. 

Leaning your axe against your door, you go to approach him. Hands in front of you again, dropping the logs. You could see him tense as you got closer- 

"Hey, look- uh- I just wanna help you with that- your hands are fucked" you weakly gesture to his shirt buttons. You were also desperate for him to cover his goddamn shoulders for the love of God.

You see him hesitate for a moment, looking down at his shaking hands. Attempting one more button before giving up, letting his hands fall to his sides. Bringing your hands up, you began to do up his buttons. Ignoring the way your fingers held a slight tremble. You decided to keep your eyes directly on your work. Which sucked, because you were pretty much staring undeviatingly at his chest. Button after button, you soon didn't have a choice but to stare at his collarbones as you did up the last one. Flicking your eyes up, you see his blood-red eyes dart away from you; suddenly interested in the wall next to you. Were his cheeks always that dark?

Dropping your hands, you took a step back. The shirt was still littered with holes. You supposed it was better than him walking around shirtless. Anything was better than that. But the one measly layer would do nothing to fight the cold. 

"That's not gonna be enough to keep you warm-" you said, mostly speaking aloud to yourself, a habit that has grown on you in the last few months. 

The man looked like he was about to say something, a conflicted expression across his face, but you were already climbing up your ladder. Rifling through your chests, you dug out an old, black turtleneck. It may have been Wilbur's, or Eret's. It might fit him, you weren't using it you supposed. Shaking off the way your chest ached thinking of Wilbur and Eret, you dropped down your ladder. 

The man- you've really got to find something to call him other than 'the man'- was awkwardly sitting on your chair. Looking stiff.

"Here, uh-" you paused realising he might not be able to lift his arms to put the jumper on.

He muttered out a small 'thanks' as he put the jumper on with relative ease. It suits him. The black made his golden piercings stand out. He seemed moderately more comfortable with another layer on. And you were infinitely more comfortable with his shoulders having been covered. You then remembered that it was shit freezing in your living room and stepped over to your logs to get a fire started. Once the crackling sound of the fire burning filled the room, you cleared your throat to speak.

"I- uh, right. Who are you? And how did you find my house? Nobody has found me since I moved out here." You cringed, realising its been months since you talked to someone that wasn't your horse. And he wasn't an ideal partner for meaningful conversations.

A painful moment passed. You wished Nikki were here. That girl could make friends in a fucking graveyard.

"A friend-" he paused "sent me here?" rubbing his hands together, looking like he didn't even believe himself.

He looked nervous. You stood up and shook your hands free of soot-

"Sure mate, look you don't have to tell me anything but could I at least get a name? Or at least a promise you won't brutally murder me in my sleep?" 

You honestly thought that was more than generous- after saving his life. A promise of, you know, not being murdered. Didn't seem too outrageous. He seemed to stiffen at the phrase 'brutally murder'. Which, in all reality, was your bad. Really? Discussing murder to a guy that clearly just fled from a fight? That nearly killed him? Smart. You praise your delicate sensibilities. 

"My names Techno, you can call me Techno." Looking up at you from where you're standing a meter away, red eyes meeting yours through pink hair.

"I'd say it a pleasure to meet you but, you bled on my goddamn hardwood." You joke, shooting Techno a smile. 

"Now-" you continue " you want some food?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao, ty for the comments. heres me thirsting over shoulders for 1000 words. next chapter im gonna cannonise russia in the dream smp. And if you wanna follow me on tumblr my user is the same here, Edgelord27 babeyyyy. i don't really post much about the fanfic bc i am scared of my peers. BUT, consider this- it would be funny.


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